


I Fought the Law

by Bobsled_Hostage



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Ass to Mouth, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, F/F, F/M, Gender Flipped Powder Gangers, Jealousy, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Poisoning, Prison Sex, survival sex, transactional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobsled_Hostage/pseuds/Bobsled_Hostage
Summary: NCR Women's Correctional Facility almost makes you wish you were patrolling the Mojave.
Kudos: 6





	I Fought the Law

**Author's Note:**

> And this is what I'd post to the latest iteration of the Fallout Kinkmeme
> 
> IF I HAD ONE

New Reno had gone to the dogs. 

Sure, nobody tried to slip you when you went behind the bar for a smoke anymore, and water was a tenth what it used to cost. But now there were these NCR press gangs everywhere. Hoovering up anyone who didn’t have “papers” and slapping them with charges. Playing at being the law.

And Mr Bishop, lord of the underworld, didn’t just tolerate it, he  _ welcomed  _ it. Considered a friendly relationship with the Republic good for business. Probably even got a cut.

Lydia got caught in a sweep. They charged her with prostitution (bullshit, most of the time), possession (true) with intent to distribute (bullshit) and fraud (if they’re dumb enough to fall for it, they have it coming). They gave her a choice: a prison sentence, or a tour of duty on the Mojave front. Three hots and a cot, or spend the rest of her suddenly-shortened life being shot at by raiders and rapers in a scorching desert. Easiest choice she ever made.

The next morning, they packed her into a cattle car with thirty other junkies, street whores and grifters, and sent her East along the Long 15. Destination: the NCR Women’s Correctional Facility in the Mojave wasteland.

The boxcar was windowless, the setting sun still enough to blind the cons when the MPs clouted them out into the bright light and swirling dust. Lydia could barely make out a fence and guard towers, surrounding rows of windowless one story buildings. Then they hustled her inside.

Lydia, used to the rhythms of street life, already had a feel for how things worked on the inside. Which was good. It made what happened next a little easier. One of the shot callers - a brawny barracks lesbian locked up on an Army assault charge - picked her out as a new cunt in need of protection. To which Lydia, ready to let someone else take care of her problems, defend her from violence, and pass her chems, readily agreed. By the time the screws locked their communal cell for the night, Lydia was already crawling out of her bunk and into her new daddy’s. She spent her first night in prison eating pussy for protection, and the next morning picking pubes out of her teeth. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever done to avoid a beating.

The inmates of the NCR Women’s Correctional Facility had two jobs: repairing uniforms and refilling stimpaks. Nara, the woman Lydia was hooked up with, tried to get her assigned to the former. Which worked until the trustee in charge of the sewing shop discovered how completely unable to work a needle Lydia was. Which suited her just fine. Sitting hunched over a desk for ten hours, darning fatigues until her fingers bled wasn’t her idea of fun. Still, it almost started a fight between the trustee and Nara. Which Nara took out on her, with the back of her hand and the toe of her boot. In spite of that, hooking up with Nara had its perks. None of the guards took Lydia behind the maintenance building and fucked her, like they did with the other new girls.

The next day, they put Lydia in the stimpak factory. She understood why Nara tried to spare her, and for a moment was almost grateful. The stimpak mixture was grown in huge foaming bacterial vats, cultured from mashed broc flowers and xander roots. That meant chopping and mashing the plant mixture, loading the vats, decanting the frothy slime, annealing it in a hot water bath, then a cold water bath, and finally repacking it into the empty applicators. All in a sweltering hot factory floor with little ventilation, which stank of chemicals and rotting garbage. Nara moved gracefully between the tubs, dodging scalding hot steam and heaving bags of fermenting vegetable matter like it was nothing.

Lydia passed out from heat exhaustion.

That night, before pressing her for sex, Nara surprised her with half a bottle of clean water, and a couple pills which Lydia didn’t recognize, but made her headache float away. In between gulps, Lydia asked why she hadn’t gotten out of the vats herself, if it was that bad. Nara almost hit her for backtalking. Lydia apologized and told her everything she wanted to hear.

She had to eat Nara’s asshole that night. It beat patrolling the Mojave, but not by much.

Lydia met some of Nara's friends in the yard - that sliver of time between the usual cycle of count, chow, work and lockdown. Most notable among them was Muriel, a skinny, fast talking druggie from the Den whose smart mouth rivaled Lydia's own. Lydia expected Nara to lash out and clobber the mouthy junkie, but she laughed along with Muriel's jokes. Lydia recognized the dynamic, like the scientists the families kept around to churn out chems, tolerating their eccentricities in return. At any rate, Muriel was easy enough to get along with, once you got past her obnoxiousness.

Two days later, Nara made Lydia blow one of the guards, so that Muriel could get into a storage closet in the vats. She was learning better how to manipulate Nara, by making her think it was her idea, instead of her bitch talking back. But she couldn’t get out of this one.

In a way, it felt good. Not sucking him off, but putting her other skills to use again. Charming the guard so he didn't wonder why a woman protected against his advances was suddenly begging on her knees for a taste of his dick.

The bastard came in her hair, which was the worst possible place. Prisoners got a water ration with each shift, and she spent most of it scrubbing jizz from her frizzy locks. Nara must have noticed anyway. She was real happy about whatever Muriel found in the closet, but just thinking about the guy touching Lydia left her fuming. Which she took out on Lydia, sexually, after lights out. She was always easier to deal with after she came. Lydia could wheedle chems out of her and spend the night floating in a sea of dreams. As long as she let Nara hand feed her the pills.

Muriel was definitely making chems. In the big vat on the end, which the trustees all thought was broken. It would be another week at least before they brought the lab tech from Freeside to look at it. Plenty of time for the first batch of the mystery brew. Lydia knew not to ask Nara questions directly, especially not in public. But she also knew how to pick stuff up through gossip in the yard, the factory floor, or in the cells at night. She knew Nara got the pills from one of the guards, and sold them to the other cons for caps, canteen and favors. So, logically, she was trying to source her own chems instead. Cut out the middleman. Or, that’s what would have made sense. If Nara and Muriel were planning to sell a new drug, they hadn’t done any marketing. Nobody knew any more than Lydia did.

To be honest, she was worried they were making jet. She knew it came from fermentation vats filled with something vile, which fit the stimpak lab to a tee. Lydia would try anything once, except jet. She had met plenty of jet-heads in New Reno, and did not care to repeat the experience. Especially while locked in a communal cell with them, where she couldn’t run down the street and count on a handsome man interposing himself between her and the pursuing junkie.

Nara was on edge, practically vibrating with nervous excitement. Muriel was even more energetic than usual. Lydia noticed them passing needles around the yard, giving select inmates a dose of something from a bootlegged stimpak applicator. Whatever they were mixing in that vat, this must be the first batch.

That night, Nara cornered Lydia in her bed, pressed the self injecting hypo into her hand, and told her to take it. Lydia knew better than to refuse directly, but didn’t want to just shoot up the homebrewed jungle juice. So she tried to weasel out of it, and Nara hit her. Lydia curled up and tucked her head under her arms - it was important not to chip a tooth, the prison didn’t even have a doctor, let alone a dentist, and a broken tooth would be an endless, painful distraction. Nara gave her a couple more kicks, then rolled her on her back and grabbed one of her arms. Lydia begged her, she was sorry, please no, don’t do it. Nara hit her again and stuck the needle in her arm.

Lydia was sick the next day, with chills and rashes. So were most of the other prisoners. The guards blamed it on a typhus outbreak.

The syringe wasn’t a new drug. It was an antidote. For the poison gas Muriel made in the unused vat. A sticky, colorless mist that spread across the prison in a plume, killing anyone who hadn’t had the shot. Guards, staff, trustees, snitches, and any prisoner nobody knew well enough to vouch for.

NCR Women’s Correctional Facility was under new management.

That night, Nara and Lydia celebrated in the warden’s bed, with pills, cigarettes, and an ice-cold sarsaparilla from the guards’ fridge. Nara surprised her by pinning her and finger-fucking her. She was in a good mood, and this was her idea of a reward. She told Lydia she didn’t have to be quiet. She could be as loud as she wanted, now that they were free. She freed her. Lydia played along. Oh yeah (ow) that’s great baby (ow) you get me so hot (ow).

The next day, they got ready to leave. Muriel wasn’t coming - she’d ODed on med x after breaking into the infirmary. They had food, water, chems, the screw’s entire stash of pills, and guns. Nara pressed a snubnosed wheel gun into Lydia’s hand, folding her fingers around the bird’s head grip. It was going to be great, she promised. Don’t worry. She knew how to get around in the wasteland. Avoid raiders and dangerous animals. Find shade and stuff to eat. And Legion? They were a bunch of pussies. Just stick by her and she’d be ok.

Lydia looked at the revolver in her hand. She looked at Nara, back turned. Fussing over their packs, making sure their water bottles were in easy reach and the weight wasn’t balanced too far toward one shoulder or the other.

She shoved the gun into her belt and hefted the offered backpack. The weight sat painfully on a month's worth of bruises in various states of freshness. Nara grunted that it was time to leave, in a tone that promised another layer.

Lydia followed her into the desert.


End file.
